


Keep the Porch Light On

by suweett



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Mickey and Franny are best friends, Uncle Mickey Milkovich, it's very mild though, pure friendship fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suweett/pseuds/suweett
Summary: "Mickey exhales, letting out a cloud of smoke into the darkening sky. “Yeah well, red headed Gallagher’s have a flair for the dramatic. You included.”  He chuckles as Franny shoves him at that."---Franny's going through some stuff. Good thing Uncle Mickey's there to help her with it.
Relationships: Frances "Franny" Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 19
Kudos: 203





	Keep the Porch Light On

Mickey (3:56): Yo, I’m here where u at?

Franny (3:57): Auditorium. I’m almost done, I’ll be right out.

Mickey (3:57): Nah, I gotta piss anyway I’ll come in.

Standing back to take a look at the mostly finished tree scenery, she hears a slight commotion behind her and turns around just in time to see Mickey heading through the auditorium doors, followed closely by a very frazzled looking secretary frantically trying to get Mickey’s attention while waving a clipboard.

“Excuse me, sir. SIR! You need to sign in, you can’t just walk in here!” He turns his head to regard her but doesn’t stop his descent towards Franny and the rest of the theater crew.

“Calm your tits lady, I’m not an axe murderer.” At his response, she becomes even more persistent, the clipboard practically smacking him in the head.

“Alright, ALRIGHT! Jesus Christ...”, Mickey barks, snatching the clipboard and scribbling what looks to be a barely legible signature before tossing it back. She fumbles to catch it before it hits the ground, then stands back up, smoothing her skirt as she goes. Franny calls out, voice carrying in the mostly empty auditorium. “It’s alright Mrs. Finnigan, he’s my uncle,” she says, trying and failing to hold back a smile at Mickey being, well.... Mickey.

He comes to a stop at the base of the stage, watching as Franny and a few other students put the finishing touches on several pieces of scenery.

“Hey kid, you ready to go?” 

Franny nods, throwing paint brushes onto a small tray and wiping the excess paint on her overalls, which look to be almost entirely covered in paint streaks.

“You get any of that paint on my car seats, you’re washing it for a month.” 

Franny rolls her eyes. “Mickey, your car is a piece of shit. If anything, it would add to it.”

He grumbles at that, then tilts his head towards the exit. She gathers up her things, murmuring goodbyes to several people still working behind her.

A girl on the stage quickly yells, “Bye Finn, see you Monday!” at their retreating backs. Franny offers a slight wave before shouldering her bag and turning to walk with Mickey.

He doesn’t miss the way she tenses at the name, or the fact that the girl who said goodbye has been quickly pulled into a gaggle of kids, all frantically whispering and gesturing in their direction, but Franny’s quickening pace out of the auditorium tells Mickey it’s not something to comment on right now.

“You comin’ tomorrow for Aiden’s birthday?”, Mickey asks as they round the car. 

“Duh, he’s my cousin, Mickey,” Franny replies, sliding into the passenger seat. “Plus, I’m making the birthday cake. Didn’t Ian tell you?” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “Chatty Kathy never stops talking. He probably mentioned it in between trying to catch a breath.” 

Franny snorts. “Nice way to talk about your husband.”

“Hey, if I was nice to him all the time he’d be even more cocky than he already is.”

They turn out of the parking lot, Franny watching the school grow farther and farther away in the side mirror.

A cloud of smoke wafts her way, not quite smelling like an actual cigarette. She glances over. “Since when do you vape?” Her nose crinkles at the chemically induced tobacco smell, watching Mickey as he tosses it into the small cup holder, his face slightly disgusted at the taste.

“Since your uncle went on the war path and decided we’re a smoke free house now. _‘Think of Aiden, Mickey. What if he gets second hand smoke, Mickey? The smell is disgusting, Mickey, I’m tired of us smelling like human ashtrays, Mickey.’_ Blah blah fucking blah.” Franny laughs at the little hand puppet meant to be Ian. “Guilt tripping me with my own fucking son, he’s a piece of work,” Mickey grumbles, picking up the vape and staring balefully at it as if it had personally offended him.

Obviously not done with the topic, he continues on, gesturing wildly. “Crushed my whole damn pack! Coulda at least let me sell that shit by the corner store.” At Franny’s snort, Mickey looks over. “Hey, sellin’ looseys on the corner is a damn good side gig kid, don’t knock it.”

It’s quiet in the car after a while, Mickey air drumming on the steering wheel, mouthing the lyrics to Another One Bites the Dust as it plays softly on the radio between them. Franny stares out the window, lightly twirling the end of her hair. Though not as bright as Ian’s, the reddish tint still easily marks her as a Gallagher.

Mickey’s working on a rather painful hangnail on his thumb while they sit at a red light when Franny asks, “Do you think I could pull off a shaved head?”

He glances over, hand suspended in the air, eyeing her as she plays with the end of her ponytail.

“Why, you wanna look like that chick from Mad Max?”

Franny rolls her eyes. “Mad Max? You mean Furiosa?”

“Yeah, that one. You wanna look like that?” Mickey looks over to see her shrug quietly, glancing out the window.

After awhile she says, “I don’t know. Maybe.” She sighs. “I just want something different. It’s too girly for me.”

Mickey chuckles. “Aren’t you a girl?”

At the silence, he looks over, watches as she stares out the window, eyebrows creased like she’s thinking hard about something.

“I don’t know.” It’s said so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it over the music.

It’s obvious this is about more than just a shaved head, but Mickey’s at a loss as to what the underlying theme is here, so he stays quiet. He thumbs his lip. Scratches at the back of his head. Still trying to think of something to say to that, he opens his mouth to ask another question when she says, “Forget it, don’t worry about it. I’m just being dumb.”

_Fuck, this is definitely Ian’s thing. Where’s that asshole when I need him?_

Before he can reply, they’re pulling up outside Debbie’s house, effectively ending the conversation as she quickly unbuckles and grabs her stuff, pulling the door open before he’s even put the car in park. “Thanks for the ride, Uncle Mickey, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mickey raises a hand off the steering wheel to wave slightly, watching as she makes her way down the path and up the porch, the front door closing with a slight bang behind her.

It’s Saturday night and they’re hanging out in the living room, finally alone after a struggle to get Aiden to bed after way too much birthday cake when Ian’s phone rings. “Hey Debs, what’s up? Uh huh.” He pauses in the doorway, listening to Debbie quietly, then lets out a laugh. 

“Oh shit. Her whole head?”

Mickey glances up at that from where he’s been lounging on the couch. “Ok, we’ll keep a lookout for her, I’ll see if Mickey can get ahold of her. Yeah, we’ll let you know if she comes by.”

Mickey sits up as Ian ends the call, heading over to plop down heavily next to him. Ian glances over. “So, apparently Debbie caught Franny shaving her head tonight and flipped her shit. Turned into a screaming match and she bolted. She thinks she might head here since we both know you’re best buds.” Mickey shoves him at the last comment, but Ian doesn’t miss the slight pink tinge on his husband’s cheeks as he turns away.

It’s nearing midnight as he cleans up the kitchen table when he hears a shuffle on the back porch, then a light cloud of smoke wafting up past their kitchen window. He smells the cigarette smoke, the scent making his fingers itch like crazy for something between them.

The porch light flickers slightly when he opens the door, illuminating the figure sitting slightly huddled on the top step.

His eyes are immediately drawn to her head, wincing slightly at what looks to be a very badly half done buzz cut, fuzzy reddish patches thicker in certain places where it’s obvious the job hadn’t quite been finished.

“You look like you escaped from a fuckin’ mental hospital,” Mickey chuckles, snatching the cigarette as he sits down. Franny eyes him warily, rubbing the back of her head self consciously. 

“I thought Ian said you can’t smoke.” 

“Well what Ian doesn’t know won’t hurt him now will it, Sigourney Weaver?” he retorts, holding the cigarette back out for her to take.

She’s silent as she takes a drag, eyes downcast as she fiddles with the hole in her jeans, pulling at the threads distractedly.

A dog barks down the alleyway. Mickey can hear the local bums arguing by the overpass, and a faint car alarm can be heard going off down the block.

It’s quiet on the porch though, their breaths as they inhale the shared cigarette the only real noise.

Not for the first time, Mickey wishes Ian were here for this conversation, wise advice having never been what anyone would call his strong suit. Act first, think about that shit later if you need to.

Finally, Franny breaks the silence. “My mom came home early and found me shaving my head in the bathroom. Totally freaked out on me. It’s my hair though, why does she have any right to tell me what to do with it?”

Mickey exhales, letting out a cloud of smoke into the darkening sky. “Yeah well, red headed Gallagher’s have a flair for the dramatic. You included.” He chuckles as Franny shoves him at that.

They’re quiet again, passing the cigarette back and forth until just the stubby end of it is left, Mickey sucking in the last of it, savoring the smoke in his lungs for several seconds before letting it out.

“You feel better now that your head’s shaved?”

“I don’t KNOW how I feel, ok! I don’t fucking know anything.”

Mickey jumps slightly at the sudden outburst, eyebrow raised in her direction. She tries to start again, then stops. Her groan of frustration is muffled into the top of her legs, arms wrapped around her head. Lifting her head back up, she sighs heavily, chin on her arms, eyes slightly wet. “I just know I don’t feel like ME. I hate this hair and I hate my boobs and my dumb name. It’s just not... me. And I don’t know what is.”

Mickey stays quiet, works on putting the cigarette out on the porch railing and flicks it down the steps. _Ian’s gonna be pissed about that in the morning_. He turns to look at her, taking in the hunched shoulders, eyes catching on her head as she fiddles with a few strands of hair that didn’t quite manage to get buzzed off.

Finally, “You don’t gotta solve this shit tonight do you?”.

At the slight shrug of her shoulders, eyes still downcast, Mickey nods decidedly and stands up. “Ok. So how ‘bout we deal with one thing at a time then and take care of that god awful buzz cut you gave yourself. You look fuckin’ insane.”

He gestures at the back door with his head, holding it open for her to step inside ahead of him. Franny looks up at him, red rimmed eyes filled with held back tears.

The waterworks cause him to sigh, then say “Look, have I ever steered you wrong? I’m your favorite uncle, ’member?” He points at himself. “Taught you how to hotwire cars?” That gets a blubbery chuckle out of her. 

“Mickey, I was ten.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and? I was eight when I learned, you ain’t special.”

In any case, it seems to do the trick as she sighs, wipes her eyes, and stands up to head inside, Mickey pushing at the back of her head as she walks by.

They’re heading up the stairs to the bathroom when Ian suddenly grabs his arm, pulling him down into a kiss that leaves him panting and breathless when he pulls away. “You’re really fucking hot when you’re in Uncle mode, just so you know,” he says, walking backwards towards the living room, eyes glittering in the light, lips curved into a smile. Mickey flips him off before heading to the second floor.

It’s quiet in the bathroom. Franny sits on the toilet seat, a towel wrapped around her shoulders as Mickey works on buzzing the rest of her head. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, mouth a hard line.

Franny closes her eyes, the feel of the buzzer unexpectedly soothing on her scalp. She’s hit with a sudden wave of emotion, eyes welling again. Slow, deep breaths. It’s hard trying to disentangle the feelings racing through her body. She stares down at the floor, watching Mickey’s beat up construction boots shuffle on the bathroom tiles as he works. An overwhelming feeling of pride suddenly cuts through her, so happy to have someone in her corner even as he mutters curses under his breath at a particular annoying part by her ears.

“You ok, Fran?” Mickey doesn’t take his eyes off what he’s doing, turning her head slightly to get at the sides, but her heart gives a squeeze at the concern lacing his voice. She goes to nod then thinks better of it considering what Mickey’s doing and lets out a squeaky “yeah.” Pauses. Considers. Thinks. Maybe here’s a good start. “Do you think you could.” Sniffs, hands rubbing nervously together. “maybe, call me...” Deep breath, slow in the exhale. “Finn?” Eyes closed, breath stuck.

Head tilted to the other side, Mickey continues buzzing. He shrugs one shoulder then lets out a simple “Sure.”

An hour later, they’re staring into the bathroom mirror together, twin pairs of blue eyes assessing her freshly buzzed head.

It reminds Mickey of Ian from a lifetime ago, mouth lifting at the memories of two kids trying to figure their own shit out as the world fell apart around them.

He throws an arm around her shoulder, affectionately rubbing the back of her head. “Not bad eh? Next time you wanna wreck your hair, come to me and we’ll fuck that shit up together, ok?” That earns him a shy smile and a slight nod. Their eyes catch in the mirror. Mickey pauses, then says, “Look, Ian and I’ll talk to your mom, ok? You wanna stay here tonight? Got that new comfy ass couch downstairs, it’s not bad for crashing.”

As she lays on their couch, blanket pulled up to her chin, the soft light from the porch shining through the curtains, she thinks that maybe things will actually be ok. Maybe she’ll have a clearer idea of who she is in the morning light. Maybe not. Nothing’s really been figured out, but it feels like a step forward tonight and that alone makes her smile and curl into the couch, breath coming easily.

**Author's Note:**

> First ever fic, hopefully it's coherent and enjoyable! Uncle Mickey is my ultimate sweet spot and his relationship with Franny is one I truly adore. 
> 
> A few things of note:
> 
> Franny/Finn is meant to be around 15 here. 
> 
> I am not trans. I identify as a cis gendered female with a very active imagination 
> 
> Identity is a fickle thing, and the path to transitioning is one I can only assume is not always linear. 
> 
> In this story, she/her/hers is still being used because bridging that gap and stepping into who you know yourself to be can be and often is such a big step.  
> Every story is different but I can only imagine the feelings of uncertainty and nervousness and fear that may be present, especially when or if you don’t know how that transition will be met within your own community of family and friends.  
> Sometimes baby steps are needed and I think that’s valid. 
> 
> Wherever you are in your transition, know that you are valid, that you deserve to be here, and that your existence is necessary.


End file.
